


and you said yes as i said please

by figure8



Series: it's not where you come from (it's where you belong) [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Handcuffs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Topping from the Bottom, Vignette, they love each other so much i'm burning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 21:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6537517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce pushes him into the shower. “You’re embarrassing.”<br/>“You <em>love</em> it,” Clark grins, and Bruce answers him by angling the showerhead so that the water sprays him aggressively right in the face. </p><p>--</p><p>Set during ATINM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you said yes as i said please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artemine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemine/gifts).



> this is literally just a missing scene from somewhere in between the third and fourth chapter of [all that is not mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5971237/chapters/13723792).  
> you don't need to know anything about the AU to read this particular installment tbh, but the dynamic will make a whole lot more sense if you're already familiar with it. 
> 
> title from not with haste by mumford and sons, which sums up their relationship perfectly.  
> happy reading!

“Don’t move,” Clark commands tersely.

Bruce looks up at him sardonically and then tugs very deliberately at the cuffs that are tying him to the bedframe. The thin metallic chain makes a rattling sound. “Make me.”

Flattening his palm on Bruce’s abs, Clark presses down softly and chuckles. “So that’s how it’s going to be tonight?”

“It’s four in the afternoon,” Bruce says, way too sarcastic and in control for someone who’s been this hard for this long, “This hardly qualifies as _tonight_.”

“If you don’t stop running your mouth, I’m going to have to find a better use for it,” Clark chastises him, now running his hand up Bruce’s chest, fingers drumming against his collarbone.

“That would be a substantial improvement to the current situation,” Bruce says flatly, and now he’s just trying to annoy Clark. It’s kind of working, which in itself is maddening on a whole other level. “If you’re not going to do anything, I’m going to pick my way out of these,” he continues casually, pulling at his restraints once again.

“No, you’re not.”

And just like that, he has Bruce’s full attention again. Something in the atmosphere shifts; Bruce’s breath catches, his body tenses again. Clark bends down to suck one more bruise at the base his throat and then comes up again to admire his handiwork. There are hickeys all over Bruce’s chest, the red already slowly turning purple. On his pale skin, they’re vividly visible—blatant marks of ownership. It stirs something inside Clark, something primal and strong.

“You know how I know you’re not?” he asks, and he hopes he sounds conversational, but his voice is probably just hoarse and hungry. “Because I told you so. And you like to pretend you do what you want—” he lowers his head and kisses one of the marks, then slides his mouth further down and swirls his tongue around Bruce’s left nipple, humming contently when it hardens under his touch, “—you want the world to believe no one can give you orders—” the other one now, and this time he bites gently, teasing, “—but I can.”

“ _Clark_ ,” Bruce says, and it’s half a warning and half a plea.

“Yeah, darling?” he grins, smug.

“Just—just _do_ something.”

And this, right here, is what Clark truly loves about this. There is no set tone to what they do in the bedroom. It’s fluid and real and human, and Bruce wants to be dominated but he also wants to be in control, and Clark will give him anything he needs. Anything. There is tension, and there is a clear exchange of power, and it took them years of careful choreography; but by now Bruce knows he can beg and laugh in the same breath. Between these four walls, he can be whatever he wants, and he always chooses to be the freest version of himself, and Clark is truly, deeply, insanely in love with him.

He straddles Bruce’s lap, position himself nicely and guides the tip of Bruce’s cock to his hole but doesn’t actually take him in, just rubs against it almost absentmindedly. Bruce makes a small starved noise at the back of his throat, wanting.

“You took awful long coming up here, you know,” Clark smiles roguishly. “I got lonely. Had time to take care of a few things myself.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bruce grits out, “Kent, I swear to God—”

Clark lowers himself on his dick with no further warning and Bruce just gasps soundlessly. He slides home with no difficulty, because Clark wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had time to prep himself, but Bruce is still huge, and for a second it feels like Clark got the wind knocked out of him.

“Don’t move,” he pants, and Bruce immediately stills, “Don’t move, ah, just give me a minute.”

Once he’s used to the feeling of Bruce inside him, it’s easy to find a rhythm. Clark rides him steadily, wordless, and for a while all he can hear is Bruce’s quiet grunts and the slap of sweaty skin on sweaty skin, but also the thump of his own heart strong in his ear, almost deafening. Bruce is thick and hot in him, a glorious burn. Clark knows he can come untouched if he really pushes himself, so he keeps his hands on his lover’s thighs, fingers digging into flesh convulsively as he bounces on Bruce’s cock.

Bruce is close. His hips are bucking up uncontrollably now, and his groans are getting rougher. Clark won’t get him to whine, not like this— _that_ only happens when Bruce is getting fucked, and that’s a real shame, but this is good too. This is _perfect_.

“Clark,” he pulls on the handcuffs instinctively, breathless, and then remembers he’s not allowed to touch. “Clark, fuck, can you—I need—”

Clark bends down to kiss him, open-mouthed and greedy, shared oxygen and bloody lips and teeth clicking. Every thrust is purposefully angled now, opening Clark up, nailing his prostate; and he feels loose and wild and _alight_ , like his body is a forest and every single of Bruce’s movements is an abandoned match.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers against Bruce’s mouth. “Yeah, just like that, just like that, give it to me.”

Bruce pounds into him twice and then he’s coming, pulsing, his back arching, a silent shout. Clark lets him ride it out until he’s not trembling anymore, and then he pulls off, almost mournful at the sudden sense of emptiness. His dick is rock hard, sticky wetness dripping slowly between his thighs, and he knows soon it’ll be uncomfortable but right now it just feels wonderfully filthy. Fisting a hand around his length, he starts jerking himself hard and fast, no finesse and all business. His eyes meet Bruce’s, who’s watching him intently splayed up naked and spent in their bed, _beautiful_. Clark stares at the perfect curve of his mouth and decides he knows how wants to come, and judging from the way Bruce just nods, holding his gaze, he knows too.

He almost falls over in his haste to get closer, his hand moving frantically around his leaking cock now. He’s so close, he can feel it licking up his spine like flames.

“Fuck, baby, I really want to—can I—”

“Knock yourself out,” Bruce grins lazily.

It’s the softness of Bruce’s smile that gets him, and Clark’s orgasm steals the ground from under him, his legs shaking, barely holding him up. He comes on Bruce’s face, white coating his red lips, his eyelids, his chin.

When his ragged breathing even outs, he releases Bruce’s wrists, presses a kiss to the tender skin there. Bruce pushes himself up on one arm and grabs Clark by the neck, kissing him hard, his tongue forceful and hungry in Clark’s mouth. Clark can taste his own come on Bruce’s lips, and he breaks the kiss to mouth at his jaw, lick him clean.

“The kids will be back soon,” he murmurs into the hollow of Bruce’s throat.

“Mmh,” Bruce nods absently. “Shower.”

He leaves the bed reluctantly, Bruce going up easily with him, his hands still on Clark.

“We’re not _that_ young,” he jokes as Bruce follows him into their bathroom.

Bruce presses his forehead to his shoulder blades and inhales deeply before planting a soft kiss there. “I just want you close,” he admits, his voice raw with a fragile sort of honesty. Clark twists around in order to be facing him again, hooks two fingers under his chin to force Bruce to look him in the eye.

“You know I love you.”

Bruce offers him a faint smirk. “It bears repeating.”

“I love you,” Clark obliges, serious. “I love you.”

Bruce pushes him into the shower. “You’re embarrassing.”

“You _love_ it,” Clark grins, and Bruce answers him by angling the showerhead so that the water sprays him aggressively right in the face.


End file.
